


Deduction, reasoning and observation (definitely not psychic powers)

by rudbeckia



Series: 221B ficlets [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Married Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 00:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19936861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudbeckia/pseuds/rudbeckia
Summary: For the 221B prompt: times when Sherlock has seemed to be psychic.





	1. Theft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade consults with Holmes on the matter of a spate of thefts that has had the police baffled.

“Do you actually think you’re psychic, Sherlock.”  
“What a ridiculous statement, Greg.” Sherlock rolls his eyes at John, whose cheeks ache from suppressed laughter. “I merely predict that in ten minutes the doorbell will ring and the thief will be escorted upstairs by Mrs Hudson.”

Lestrade looks to John for support. John shrugs, shaking his head. Lestrade sighs. “This spate of thefts has had us at our wits’ end, Sherlock! How can you solve it in minutes with one phone call?”  
“I gave it a moment’s thought and deduced who the culprit was. You should try that sometime.”  
Lestrade snaps, “What?”  
“Thought.” Sherlock grins. “If only our esteemed bobbies would _think_ they’d clear up half the cold cases in the country within days.”  
Greg mutters something but the only word John catches is “insufferable”.

Sherlock turns and yells through the open door. “Mrs Hudson? Doorbell.”

Lestrade’s eyebrows shoot up when the doorbell rings. He hears muffled voices, laughter, then feet pad up the stairs to Sherlock’s door.  
“Here we are,” Hudson singsongs. “In here.” She calls through, “Sherlock? Your ‘irregulars’ brought you something.”  
“Bring it in!”

Lestrade gapes when Hudson walks in carrying a large cage. A beady black eye glares out, and the white and blue black magpie croaks out a warning.  
“Fuck me,” Greg says. “It was a bird!”


	2. Gown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock hates hospitals.

“Why are we still here, John?” Petulance clings to the words. 

“Because nobody has said you can go, darling.”  
“I say we can go.” Sherlock pouts. “If we need permission from a doctor, you’ll say we can go.”  
John sighs and purses his lips. He checks the seconds being ticked away by the wall clock and—

And Sherlock’s getting out of bed already, reaching with gibbon-like arms for the clothes John brought.

“Stop reading my mind. I’ve not decided.” John’s face softens but he pulls the bag away and his words stay sharp. “I can’t break you out of here. You’re under guard of Scotland Yard’s finest.”  
Sherlock scoffs. “I can’t stay here. I’ll go insane.”  
John quirks an eyebrow but says nothing. Another precious minute ticks past and he stands.  
“Fine. I’ll go ask when you’ll be discharged.” Sherlock reaches for the bag again. “Nuh-huh, I’m taking this with me. You can have it when you’re allowed out.”

John rolls his eyes at the uniforms outside Sherlock’s room and finds the nurses’ station. Sherlock may not leave today despite his insistence that he is fine. When he turns around to go back, he sees two vacant plastic chairs and a flash of white where the hospital gown fails to meet.

“Come back, Sherlock!” John yells. “Everyone can see your bum!”


	3. Break-in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ordinary night at 221B Baker Street.

Dark.  
Comfortable.  
John’s happy he’s asleep.

“Ow!”  
“Hush!”  
“Sherlock—“  
A hand seals John’s mouth, preventing sound escaping.  
“Be. Quiet. Please.” Sherlock’s voice is almost inaudible. “And don’t panic. Someone’s about to break in.”

The hand is removed and John takes a shuddering breath.  
“Why—” He lowers his voice further. “—would anyone break in? How do you know?”  
“If I said it was just a feeling would you shut up?”  
“Absolutely not.”

Now his eyes are adjusting, John sees the glint of reflected light in Sherlock’s eyes and the shadowy outline of his head raised above the pillow. He doesn’t look like he’s fooling around.

John realises in a flash that Sherlock never fools around. His eyes open wide and they mirror each other’s movements as they slip silently out of bed. Sherlock grabs the épée he mounted on the wall the day he won his college tournament. John grabs Sherlock’s arm.  
“You’re not seriously going to use that!”  
“Well, no, obviously.”  
“Oh god, I can see the headlines already. Sherlock’s Shame at Stabbing Someone.”  
Sherlock pokes John with the end. “It’s hopelessly blunt.”  
“Like its owner,” John murmurs.  
They creep to the front door and wait.

Locks click.  
Hinges creak.

John barges the stooping figure while Sherlock wields the sword.  
The man sighs. “Warm welcome, brother!”  
Sherlock groans. “Mycroft, you bastard!”


End file.
